The Sacred and Profane
by DanceswithElvis
Summary: Rated for language and violence. This is a Hellsing fanfic that focuses on Alexander Anderson. When something wicked this way comes, the lines between heaven and hell become blurred. New and edited Chapter 4 up.
1. Default Chapter

**The Sacred and Profane**

**by Docky (a.k.a. DanceswithElvis)**

**Standard Disclaimer:**

_I don't own Hellsing, nor any of its' characters. Those belong to Young King Comics, the great Hirano and the Pioneer distribution company._

Silver stained crimson glinted in the moonlight, reflecting the brief terror of yellow eyes before they faded into a mist of ash. A tall, lanky figure stood watching that fine ash scatter to the wind as he lowered the brightly gleaming blades, blood still clinging and boiling on their blessed surfaces.

"Weakling. Unclean retch, grace be unto you and hell claim your soul" snarled a rough voice, a faint accent coloring his words. The threat gone, he stood silent for a moment before tucking away his instruments of _ Divine Justice_ safely back into his long coat. It was time for him to take his leave, yet he was hesitant to go. Despite what had just taken place, the cathedral was peaceful and that sense of peace called him to her stone façade.

Illuminated by the waning moon's light, the stone steps leading to the main chapel were cool and inviting. Adjusting his glasses, he sat on the hard stone, leaning back to gaze at the stark shadow that Saint-Leu d'Esserent, cast against the brightly lit night sky.

It had only been a few days ago that he had had the demise of the Hellsing organization within his grasp. Unfortunately he had underestimated the Protestant Knights and their pet abomination. The Hellsing bitch and her demon guard had gotten away for now…and the girl. 

"…and the girl," he murmured, closing his insanely intelligent green eyes, picturing the young woman in question, as she had looked upon him with horror as he impaled her master with his holy blades. 

"Such beautiful fear in those eyes," he whispered smugly, a feral grin spreading his lips "such an innocent." Shedding his glasses with one elegant move of a white gloved hand, he opened his eyes and gazed at the silver monochromatic landscape. 

"Such perverse innocence; a pure soul tainted by the mark of an abomination. She is Mary Magdalene the Great Whore of Babylon…Mary Lucifer the Light-Giver….she is an innocent impure soul, one damned to hell for her piety," he thought with an elated sigh, "I will set her free and cleanse her soul with the darkest fires of hell…"

Casting his bleary gaze on one of the many stone carvings that decorated the archway, he spoke to the stoic stone image, "You know, even the Protestant swine, with all their so called research into the science of the undead," the word "science" spat out like sour wine, "even their pet abomination doesn't know how vampires are truly created. For all their knowledge they still remain pathetically ignorant." 

Putting his glasses back on, he reached out and ran his hand over the intricately carved image of an aristocrat profanely carved as one of the great apostles, "Virginity is not worth the bed it's lost on; a vampire is made from a pure heart, not a pure body." 

Rising, he stretched his long arms over his head and turned his back on Saint-Leu d'Esserent as he made his way down the stone steps, Maxwell's words echoing in his head.

"Pure good, pure evil, young children or elderly grandmothers, it doesn't matter once they are tainted by the blood of the dead, Alexander. They are damned from that point on." 

Twisting his lips in a bitter expression at the memory, he whispered to the night around him, "I've tasted the bitter wine of Gilgamesh and become an instrument of Divine Justice," the image of the police girl once again passed through his brain as he summoned his power and shouted to the world around him, "I will set her free," before disappearing in a whirling cloud of Biblical text. 

********************

**Author's notes: **

Well, the number one reason I wrote this, is because I'm an Anderson fan (not enough of those around, I think). The second reason, being that there aren't enough Anderson fics out there!

I tried to keep Alexander Anderson in character as much as possible, but with a character as mentally unstable as he is, I'm not sure you could ever be too far out of character or too sure of your footing when keeping him in. I guess out of character for him would be him becoming an Ozzie fan, an atheist and wearing spandex jump suits.

The references to Mary Magdalene as the Whore of Babylon and Mary Lucifer the Light Giver, are historical names given to the woman who anointed the feet of Jesus with spice and tears. (Eh, my time in Catechism and Bible school finally pays off….*rolls her eyes*) 

Saint-Leu d'Esserent is an actual Medieval cathedral in France that I pulled out of, _Art and Architecture in Medieval France, _by Whitney S. Stoddard.

Also the reference to the wine of Gilgamesh is due to the legend and speculation that he was one of the first vampires of civilized (post caveman) time. I won't go into the legend here, if anyone is interested please feel free to email me at: Grouchomarxism@hotmail.com

As always, reviews comments and suggestions are welcome. 

Docky (AKA DanceswithElvis)


	2. Rain Act One

**The Sacred and Profane**

**Chapter 2: Rain-**

**Act One.**

**by Docky (a.k.a. DanceswithElvis)**

**.**

_Wales: November 15, 2002, Church of Saint Cadfan, 11:45pm._

In the darkness and all around him gathered the shadows of the damned. Whether they actually existed on this plain or were just echoes and memories, he did not know. What he did know was that he had been outclassed defeated and somewhere in that threatening gloom, death waited for the final dance. Already exhausted and bleeding heavily from several wounds Anderson stood waiting for the finish, doubting that even his regenerative abilities would help him now.

The dull sound of blade meeting flesh and the sharp pain that followed didn't really surprise the lanky Paladin. He could feel the warm stickiness from his wound already spreading downward from his back, soaking his clothes and dripping on to the stone floor. He swayed briefly before the dizziness from blood loss overcame him and forced him to his hands and knees. Panting from the pain he raised his head and looked up into the blazing eyes of true evil.

"Fool. I gave you your chance. Now I send you back to your brethren," hissed a sibilant voice, echoing through the ancient cathedral's empty chamber. A flash of silver told Anderson that his long life would be at an end in a few short seconds as the demon raised one of the Paladin's own swords above his head.

WWW

_Rome: Late April 1945, a few days after allied victory in Europe._

Watching over a small courtyard crowded with young children sat two young nuns in deep discussion over one child in particular. He was a pale child, painfully thin and a bit smaller than the other children his age. He watched the others play with brilliant green eyes, his face impassive and framed by long curly blonde hair. His clothes were torn and dirty, his hands and feet cut from broken glass and sharp rocks, yet he carried himself with an air defiant pride and active intelligence. 

"Poor boy," murmured Sister Josephine, gazing at silent form of the boy sitting in an unoccupied corner of the courtyard watching the other children play. Sighing, she turned back to her companion frowning, her clear blue eyes troubled.

"It isn't right for a child to be so. . ." here, the young nun paused, searching for the right word.

"Empty?" supplied Sister Daphne, her brown eyes meeting Josephine's in understanding.

"Exactly," Sister Josephine confirmed nodding her head. 

Both women were softhearted in nature, and so when a knock at their door late the previous night had brought them the shivering six year old, covered in dried blood and grime, their tender hearts were lost to the boy. During their cursory examination and clean up, they found that while he had been covered in blood, he had not sustained any grievous injury. After putting the child to bed, they had questioned the American soldier who had brought him to their door. What the soldier had related to them had not eased their mind or hearts.

Turning back to the boy, Sister Daphne asked, "Do you think he remembers anything?"

"God, I hope not."

The boy had been found wandering the ruins of a tiny homestead near the small city of Cividale del Friuli near the Yugoslav border. Apparently a German garrison, the homestead had be razed to the ground by the retreating Nazi and Fascist forces and her inhabitants slaughtered, except for the boy. American soldiers checking the area for fleeing Nazi troops had stumbled across the massacre. Amongst the smoking ruble and shattered bodies they found a dirty child with blazing green eyes shakily holding a gun pointed directly at their advancing sergeant. 

"No, Daphne, he remembers nothing," answered a warm baritone, startling the two nuns to their feet. "He doesn't even remember his own name."

Flushing slightly for being so jumpy and being caught gossiping, Sister Josephine bowed her head in greeting to the newcomer, "Father Gilson! Forgive us, we didn't mean to gossip."

Quirking a brow and his clear grey eyes sparkling, the priest teased lightly, a Scottish burr coloring his voice, "Didn't mean to? Or didn't mean for me to catch you at it, sister?"

"Oh!" gasped Josephine, her eyes widening with a mix of annoyance and genuine penitence.

Unperturbed by Father Gilson's gentle admonishment, Daphne asked the grinning priest, "So, what are we to call the boy, then?"

Considering her question, Gilson studied the boy for a few minutes before returning his attention to the two nuns awaiting his answer. "Alexander. We shall call him Alexander Anderson, in honor of the priest that mentored me all those years ago." 

WWW

_Wales: November 14, 2002, Tywyn, 11:45am_

As he drove the rental car into the Welsh town of Tywyn, Anderson noted the fractus clouds didn't look promising as they drifted over the rise of the dark rolling mountains, setting the mood for why he was there. There had been several "mysterious" deaths reported around Cader Idris and Tywyn, and he had been sent to deal with it, even though the area was not of a particular concern to the Vatican. No, instead, the Iscariot's were more interested in how the Hellsing Protestant Knights would respond to a vampire threat in the organization's weakened position. 

Sir Integral Wingates Hellsing, having been released from prison by a monarchy persuaded by the Hellsing's pet No Life King, was recouping at an undisclosed medical center somewhere in North Cumberland along with her Angel of Death. Both were being closely guarded by Alucard and his servant, the police girl. According to some recent information, the Hellsing institute had acquired the services of a legendary band of mercenaries called the Wild Geese, lead by a man named "Pip" Bernadotte; but even with the addition of the mercenaries, Hellsing was weakened and the Iscariot organization wished to exploit this to the best of its ability.

After pausing briefly to consult his map, Anderson made his way to the Bryn-y-Mor Guest House to check in and prepare for the nights activities. Happy to be out of the cramped confines of the small car, Anderson stretched, and then walked to the low door of the guest house. The entrance of the long limbed Paladin surprised the elderly woman at the front desk into laughter. Surprised at her reaction, he quirked an eye brown and approached the desk.

Amused blue eyes met brilliant green as the old woman gave Anderson a wry grin and greeted him merrily in Welsh. This gave Anderson pause as he stared at the woman before conceding that he had no knowledge of the language she spoke.

"May I help you, boyo _bach_?" laughed the old woman as she looked up at the Paladin curiously from behind the front desk.

"Yes. There should be a reservation for a Father Alexander Anderson," he said, looking down at the wrinkled features and snapping blue eyes framed by the white-grey hair of the woman. Amused by her pert behavior, as he watched her shift through a couple of guest log pages, he noted that in her prime she had probably been one of those wild beauties the romantic poets were so fond of. 

"Ah, then…here it is. Follow me, if you would, Father and we will find your room," said the old lady, looking up from the guest book spread out on her desk. A few minutes later found Anderson alone in his room reading through the information that Maxwell had given him.

"Six victims, each drained of blood, their necks broke and…mutilated," he murmured reading to himself. Pausing, he lifted a small stack of photos that were paper clipped together. Removing the clip and spreading the crime scene photos out on the small table next to his bed, Anderson considered each one carefully. 

Each type of vampire had its' own unique method. Ghouls were rather messy, often dismembering and eating their victims, while FREAK vampires, though violent, usually did not "gnaw" upon their chosen meal. However, most FREAKs were sloppy, often feeding on just about anyone and they usually left a bunch of ghouls behind to terrorize the local populace. True vampires, on the other hand, were more particular in whose blood they stole and rarely, if ever, left without breaking the neck of the victim, preventing them from turning into a ghoul.

Studying the photos, he noticed an obvious pattern to the crime scene. Each victim had been found crucified with railroad spikes on crooked, makeshift crosses, their eyes gouged out and their tongues cut out. Above each victims head was nailed a plain piece of wood with "_desero"_ ornately scrawled on it in blood.

"Forsaken," whispered the blond man, shivering at the sense of some lost memory playing at the edge of his consciousness. For a moment he was lost in that eerie sense of almost knowing, staring out his window at the Welsh mountains partially obscured by ragged clouds. Shaking himself out of his momentary reverie, Anderson returned his attention to the crime scene reports.

WWW

_Wales: November 14, 2002, Tywyn, just after sunset._

Seras Victoria sat glumly beside the mercenary captain, looking out the window at the rising crescent moon, as they drove the personal carrier past the first few houses that marked the edge of Tywyn. Sighing softly to herself, she thought back on the events leading up to her being sent on this mission. Sir Integral, while mobile and having returned to her work-a-holic way of life, was still weakened from her self inflicted wound and her ordeal in prison. Walter was slowly recovering his strength and had returned to some of his lighter duties, but could not be counted on as adequate protection for Sir Hellsing should the need arise; so, when they were contacted about the deaths in Wales, her master, Integra and Walter had all decided that she should lead this particular mission, allowing her master to stay behind and protect the Hellsing heiress. Sir Hellsing felt that she had proven herself a useful addition to the Hellsing organization and it was time that she took full responsibility on certain missions. Walter had agreed with Integral's assessment and Alucard, her master had just smiled enigmatically and said, "Don't disappoint me, police girl."

So they had packed her off to Tywyn with Captain Bernadotte and five other men to take care of the vampire problem. And here she was, riding in silence with six men who did not really trust her, into a situation that she had a bad feeling about.

WWW

_Vatican City, the offices of the Iscariot Organization, Division XIII._

Two figures watched the moonrise from the large, wide window in the center of a darkened office.

"So, he is taking care of the problem in Wales? What of the Protestant Knights?" a voiced bathed in shadow and age asked his companion.

"What of them? They are still licking their wounds and can be easily dispatched if they choose to interfere," answered a snide, cold voice.

The two shadowy forms lapsed into silence for a few minutes before another question dared break the silence.

"Do you think he knows…?" queried the elderly shadow. He was answered by a shout of mirthless laughter and a momentary silence before he was answered.

"Does he know what he is? No," replied the acerbic voice of his shadowy companion, "as far as he knows, he is the creation of our _Holy Magic_."

"What if he finds out?"

"He won't."

"But what if he _does_?"

"Then, my friend, he will make Satan look like a choir boy."

WWW

Anderson was kneeling in silent prayer, readying himself for the task of hunting and killing the abomination responsible for the murders when the sound of a heavy vehicle traveling down the road in front of Bryn-y-Mor Guest House caught his attention. Rising, he walked to the window and looked out just in time to catch a glimpse of the Hellsing crest on the door of the armored carrier and a flash of blond hair of a passenger.

Smiling in fanatical delight, Anderson closed his eyes and whispered, "So they sent the little fledgling…hmm…_facilis est descensus Inferi,_ but the rise to salvation is bathed in the blood of saints. Little demon, your body shall be purified and your soul saved. Amen."

WWW

Author's Notes:

Hello again. Originally, The Sacred and Profane was to be a one-shot story, but I was amazed by the responses I received that were asking for more. Well, I have bowed to the commands of my readers and wrote a new chapter starting a new story…think of the original one as a prologue of sorts.

Obviously, none of this happens in the Anime or manga….I am attempting to fuse the two into a coherent continuum. There will probably be little discrepancies here and there…but, the course of these events should be considered to be happening before _The Balance of Power Chapter Three_, in book 3 of the Hellsing manga novels. I want to get the Millennium Group involved in this….can't tell you much more without giving away my plot. Sorry. ^.^

Except for the small farm where the American soldiers found our lovable Judas priest, all the places mentioned in this story are real. I may have taken a few liberties with exact details and such, but nothing major. I have used a few Welsh names and one or two words in this chapter, so anyone who knows Welsh, please feel free to correct me if I have misspelled or misused a word or place. 

Also the phrase: _"Facilis est descensus Inferi_" is Latin for "The decent to hell is easy." If I've made a mistake in my Latin, I do ask someone tell me so I can correct it.

I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed and given me so much support on this story. Thank you! Without your encouragement, I seriously doubt that I would have continued this particular story. Thank you: Teleute, Afrodite, Portia, Reyana Draconis, Lady Ravenshadow, Tain Nosferatu Infernus, GodOfTheWired, flashgemini, Alexandra, Captain Spaulding, Zpan Sven, CCS Sakura!!!

Oh! Before I forget…this particular story arch is inspired by the Yoko Kanno song _Rain_ from the _ Cowboy Bebop _episode_, Ballad of Fallen Angels_.

I think that about wraps things up for this chapter. I sincerely hope that you have read and enjoyed this new chapter as much as you did the original story. As always, please read and review, comments and questions are always welcome. Thanks!

Please stay tuned for the next chapter! 

Docky


	3. Interlude I

**The Sacred and Profane**

**Rain: Interlude I**

**By Docky (aka DanceswithElvis)**

_Wales: November 14, 2002, near mid-night, the slopes of Cader Idris._

It was a trap. Nicolas knew it as soon as he saw the lone figure standing at the end of the lonely sheep path. It was when he saw that slight shadow against the crescent moon that fear loomed up like a demon out of the darkness and all his instincts screamed for him to flee. Now Nicolas was running for his life down a steep rocky path on the sloping Cader Idris. A sudden sound and thrashing through some hedge at the edge of the path startled him, tripping and sending tumbling off of the sheep path and down the steep slope. 

The world spun around Nicolas as his seemingly endless tumble down the mountain was effectively stopped when he slammed into a large boulder jutting from the surface of the mountain. Crawling to his hands and knees, trying desperately to clear the painful buzzing from his mind, he panted for breath hoping that his pursuer had given him up for dead.

"Oh, poor Nicolas; did you hurt yourself," asked a distinctly amused and feminine voice, followed by a soft throaty chuckle. 

At the sound of that cooing voice, Nicolas froze. His breathing shallow, he stood and turned to face the voice's owner. Blinking, he staggered back a step, unable to comprehend the horror he saw. A sudden, impossibly firm grasp on his left arm had him staring down into the glittering blue eyes of a young boy. Unable to form a coherent sentence, Nicolas just stared numbly down at the boy grasping his arm.

The boy shook his head and grinned, exposing elongated canines to the trembling man in his grasp. Smirking up at the man again, the child jerked down on his arm, sending Nicolas to his knees. Moving to stand behind Nicolas, the boy leaned forward and whispered into the man's ear, "What's the matter Nicolas? Haven't you ever seen a nightmare before?"

*******

_November 14, 2002, near mid-night, Northumberland, Temporary Hellsing Headquarters. _

Moonlight reflected off of the clear pane of prescription glass Walter held up, checking for smudges and dirt before returning it to its resting place over his left eye. Sighing he returned his attention to the books resting on the desk in front of him. The room was dimly lit by a desk lamp that hadn't been new when Churchill was in office and the office chair that he was currently sitting in was perhaps even older. Green eyes flickered to the far wall where the light switch was barely visible. Deciding he was too old and too far into what he was doing, the Hellsing Angel of Death shook his head and began reading again. 

Several minutes later he was still engrossed in the ancient tomes of Vatican lore when he uttered a strangled oath and stood up so quickly he sent the ancient office chair toppling behind him. Not even sparing the chair a glance Walter grabbed what he had been studying and sprinted out the door calling for Sir Integral.

*******

_Vatican City, the offices of the Iscariot Organization, Division XIII._

Father Enrico Maxwell caressed the illuminated manuscript lovingly as he turned the delicate pages. Briefly skimming the pages, he smirked at the archaic text. Most of the so called "formulas" and "spells" that were the basis of the ostensible Vatican Magic were useless; but buried deep within all the superfluous script was the information that controlled one of Division XIII's most formidable weapons.

Finding what he was searching for, Maxwell cleared his throat and read the first passage on the intricately crafted page, _"Who art driven from the loftiest azure heavens and forced, burnt to the pasture below. Bruising thy heel and bleeding thine hands on the rock and thorn of earth. Embracing the kiss of evil, yet shunning its master; thou art castaway and fallen, forever forsaken."_

"And _this_ is what we shall use should he ever find out?" asked an incredulous Enrique from across the brightly lit office. The elderly man's face drawn in habitual concern as he paced in front of the large paned window; occasionally he would glance out at the thin moon and frown. He had a bad feeling about this mission that Maxwell had sent Anderson on. A _ very_ bad feeling.

Glancing up from the gold-leafed manuscript, Maxwell gave the older man a cold, disdainful look and remarked snidely, "Stupid old man. Yes this is exactly what we will use. Father Anderson is still bound by the Vatican's powers and will be for eternity." Standing abruptly, Maxwell leaned forward on his paper strewn desk and gave the older man a dangerously feral smile, "You worry too much, Enrique; remember that we are God by proxy here on earth."

*******

_Rome: 1949, the Vatican._

"Come children! This way…" called Sister Daphne as she lead a group of about twenty children of varying ages through the great hallways of the Vatican. Her companion, Sister Josephine was bringing up the rear, making sure there would be no stragglers to get lost in the enormous building. The hallways were filled with the laughter and chatter of the children as they followed Daphne out into the main courtyard.

Slightly flustered from the ordeal of taking a tour of very curious and rambunctious children through the most sacred building of their religion, Daphne and Josephine took a moment to catch their breath and straighten their habits before taking a final head count and heading back to the orphanage. After composing themselves, the young nuns called role once more, only receiving nineteen answers.

"Oh dear…we've lost Alexander," exclaimed Josephine. Blinking, the young woman exchanged worried looks with her companion, and then looked back at the enormous building they had just left. This could be a problem.

Alexander was lost. He had just bent down to tie his shoe and by the time he was finished, the other children and the sisters were no where to be seen. At first he had been slightly panicked and had dashed down a hallway hoping it would lead him back to his group. That had been a couple of hours ago, truly an eternity to the ten year old as he walked through the increasingly older and darker hallways. The panic that Alexander had pushed to the back of his mind when he first realized he was lost was now creeping back to the fore with each passing minute.

Green eyes darting nervously to and fro, Alexander moved swiftly and quietly down the corridor, trying not to dwell on the eerie shadows that were cast in the dim lighting. Hearing a shuffling noise behind him, Alexander whipped his head around half hoping that someone had found him; half fearing that it was some monster rising from the gloom to claim him. 

Seeing nothing, he turned back and started walking faster, breaking into a run when he spied a door at the end of the eerie corridor. He just knew that it would lead him back to the Nuns and his peers. It had to. 

Slamming into the door, he searched the ancient wooden slab for the latch that would allow him to push it open. After a few seconds he found it, and heaved the heavy wood door open, basically throwing himself through the entry. Blinking, Anderson realized the pitch blackness that surrounded him now, was not a way out. Instead, it was like a suffocating presence trying to draw him in and erase the memory of his existence. 

Frantically turning to race back out the door, he was brought short of his destination by a nauseating wave of dizziness. Holding his head, Alexander took a step backward, screaming when his foot met with only air, sending him tumbling backwards down an unseen stairwell. 

****


	4. Rain Act II: Long Version

**Rain: Act II**  
(the long version of chapter 4) _Wales: November 15, 2002, Tywyn, two hours after sunset.  
_  
The Welsh countryside was wild beneath the crescent moon that bathed the land in its ominous crimson glow. Seras sighed heavily, unable to shake the feeling that something was happening. In an effort to clear her mind so she could concentrate on the job at hand, she had taken her leave of the mercenaries and wandered off for a pre-mission walk; something that normally would have relaxed and restored her spirits, but this time everything seemed wrong. There was a kind of darkness at the edge of her mind; a presence of something that was inherently terrible and it frightened her. Groaning, she leaned back on the stone sheep fence she had followed from the main road in Tywyn, and turned her gaze to the moon and stars above her.  
  
Sighing, she closed her crimson eyes and let her mind open itself to the world around her, calling upon the psychic ability that had been slowly growing stronger since she'd subscribed to a proper vampiric diet. Slowly she began to trace the edges of that dark presence she had been feeling since arriving in Wales, tentatively trying to ferret out its origin. However, something about the stars she had just been looking at bothered her, tearing her concentration from her original purpose. She could swear that these constellations were not the same as she had memorized as a child. They seemed...  
  
"...so wrong," said a roughly accented voice, echoing her thoughts. Startled, Seras' eyes flew open and she let out a gasp of terror.  
  
Earlier, after noting the arrival of his rivals, Anderson had continued his daily devotions; but as the last rays of sunlight had finally been vanquished by the night, he noticed an escalating feeling of terrible anticipation. He had continued his Rosary, trying to push the ever-growing sense of unease to the back of his mind. Finally, after stumbling over the same words several times in a row, he gave up and decided he needed fresh air to clear his head.  
  
Following a rocky path just off the main road through town, he soon found himself walking along an aging rock fence and gazing up at the stars. Something about them bothered the priest; and not at all helped by the sense that something was coming. That some eternal mechanism had set forth a cycle of events and he was lost within them. As he continued walking, lightly running the long fingers of his left hand along the uneven surface of the stone fence, he tried to figure out exactly what it was about the heavens above that had set off alarm bells deep within his soul.  
  
The sudden realization of what his subconscious had been trying to tell him about the cosmos above startled Anderson out of his reverie and brought his attention back to his surroundings, where he found himself about to run into a lithe female body, haphazardly leaning back against the fence he was following. His surprise deepened when he recognized who she was.  
  
His first instinct was to reach inside his coat, seize one of his blessed blades and take off her pretty, little head; but something in the way her face was scrunched up in a frown of concentration made him pause. Glancing upward again, he knew instinctively what she was thinking. For an instant, he was able to brush her consciousness with his, plucking one sentence out of her wildly fluctuating stream thought, finishing it aloud and startling the young woman.  
  
Ruby eyes widened with fear, then confusion as the lanky priest looked away and then settled his large form next to hers on the ancient fence. Seras nervously ran her tongue over her elongated canines trying to decide if she should run or not. After a few long seconds of warring feelings, curiosity won out and she nervously cleared her throat, bringing the priest's attention back to her.  
  
"Why..." she started cautiously, but was cut off when Anderson pinned her with his steady gaze. "I'll kill you," he said softly, before looking away again, "I will kill you, Draculina. As sure as I stand, you will be saved." Seras fell silent at that statement, annoyed by the priest's arrogance, yet frightened by the calm certainty behind his words.  
  
When she would have moved to leave the priest she stopped, her senses stinging with awareness. Acting on pure instinct, she grabbed a very surprised paladin by the wrist and flung him over the stone fence, following him in a blink of an eye. Almost instantaneously, there was an explosion of stone and earth as the fence was shattered.  
  
Anderson hit the rocky ground hard, rolling a couple of times before coming to a painful halt next to the crouching police girl. Blinking, he tried to clear his clear his vision and his head as he scrambled into a deadly crouch, ready to spring and deliver the young officer from this world. His actions were interrupted when Seras, looking intently at the direction they had just tumbled from, emitted a low hissing growl and bared her fangs in a grimace of fear-tinged anger. Following her wild gaze, Anderson watched as the dust and debris settled, revealing two figures standing where that section of fence once ran.  
  
"Hmm, I missed," stated a coldly amused female voice, "What now, sire?" The shorter figure fully emerged moving from the settling dust cloud. Anderson watched, mesmerized and confused, unable to suppress the involuntary shiver or dread when he caught the cold blue gaze of the boy. The boy paused, looking from Seras to Anderson, then over his shoulder to where an attractive fair-haired woman had come to stand just behind him. Smiling, he turned back to the priest and the Hellsing operative.  
  
"Now, my Lady, we play."  
  
_November 16, 2002, 1:00am, Northumberland, Temporary Hellsing Headquarters._  
  
It had been almost exactly a day since he had explained the situation to Sir Hellsing and Master Alucard, and Walter was getting a bit nervous. Integra had thrown a royal fit, cursing the Vatican, and had then marched back into her office, slammed the door with orders not to disturb her while she made a few phone calls. During all this, Alucard had not said a thing. And it was Alucard's silence that worried Walter; when Alucard was silent, copious amounts of blood were usually spilled. Now that Seras Victoria, the young fledgling, was involved, Walter was convinced things might turn even uglier than they had in Poland when the vampire had slaughtered hundreds of fleeing Nazi soldiers during the Second World War. It was not that he thought the enigmatic vampire had romantic feelings for the young woman; Alucard was more of a sadistic surrogate father or insane uncle than a potential lover to either of the two young women left in their charge.  
  
"How sweet, you're worried about me," stated Alucard in a voice that suggested anything but sincerity. Giving Walter a sidelong glance, Alucard casually shifted his position studied the planes of the Angel of Death's face. Not in the least bothered by Alucard's intense study of his aged features, Walter returned the vampires gaze with just as much cool intensity. The vampire held the Angel of Death's gaze a few more seconds before blinking and turning toward a thick paned window with a frown.

"She's gone," Alucard stated flatly before turning back to Walter.

"What? Who's gone?"

"The police girl."

_Wales: November 16, 2002, Tywyn, 12:30am. Several hours after Seras Victoria left for a quick walk._

"Damnit, where the fuck is she," hissed Captain Bernadotte as he ground a cigarette out on the fender of the Hellsing personnel carrier. It had been an hour since Seras had last checked in and the time to start the mission was fast approaching. He had sent four of his five men out looking for the girl, but none of the reluctant searchers had found any trace of her.

Slamming his hand against the armored carrier hard enough to numb his fingers, Pip Bernadotte growled and stomped around to the driver side door and threw it open. This was unlike Seras. He had not worked for Hellsing organization long; but he had been on enough training maneuvers with the young vampire to be able to predict her behavior. Seras would fight when backed into a corner, but for the most part, she truly lived up to her nickname _Kitten_. Seras Victoria was a lot of things, but most of all, she was conscious of her responsibility as an officer of Hellsing and everything that entails. She would not endanger the mission intentionally with her absence, which left only one answer. Something had gone drastically wrong.

Grabbing the cell phone from its resting space on the driver seat, Pip punched in a set of numbers and waited, dreading the conversation ahead of him.

_Author's Note:_

_And there we have the finished version of chapter four. The next chapter will continue with a flashback to Anderson's misspent youth. A few of you might be able to guess where I'm heading with a bit of this. We'll see. _


End file.
